Star 69
by nicnac918
Summary: Ford has had enough of these weird prank calls
1. Chapter 1

AN: For those who don't know, in the US if you dial *69 (typically pronounced "star 69") on your phone, it gives you the phone number of whoever last called your phone. This would then give you the ability to call the person back if you so chose. And now I think we're all on the same page here.

* * *

"Hello, this is Stanford Pines."

Stan hung up the phone.

"Stupid, useless, worthless." Stan berated himself, smacking the back of his head against the wall of the phone booth in time with his words. "No more. You can't keep wasting money like this." Not that it wasted that much money to make a phone call that lasted less than a minute, but Stan didn't have that much money to waste. He didn't have any money to waste. So if he was going to keep chickening out and hanging up as soon as Ford answered the phone, he would stop calling Ford in the first place. Simple.

It should be simple. What was simpler than not doing something? But even as he swore to himself that he wouldn't be calling Ford again, Stan knew it wasn't going to last. He might be able to go a week or three or one time he'd gone four entire months without participating in this little exercise in masochism, but eventually another pay phone would catch his eye, and Stan wouldn't be able to help himself.

The phone rang. Stan stared at it in bewilderment. He didn't know that payphones could ring. He guessed if he thought about it, payphones were still phones and logically had numbers that you could call, but why would you? There was no telling who was going to be around to pick the phone up, or if anyone would be. Stan stared at the phone for a minute longer before his curiosity got the better of him and he answered it. "Hello?"

"Who is this, and why do you keep calling me?"

"F-Ford?" Stan sputtered.

"Yes, I think we've amply established who I am over the years. The question is: who are you?"

"How did you get this number?" Stan asked, ignoring Ford's question entirely.

"From the telephone company. I used last-call return and called the number you just called me on." Right, that was a thing. One that both Stan and Ford had failed to consider until now. "How did you get my number? More to the point, how did you get my number here and the numbers for both my dorm and my apartment at Backupsmore, and how were you able to follow me as I moved?" said Ford.

Stan shrugged, even though he knew Ford couldn't see him. "A friend told me?" He was allowed to count Ma as a friend. Maybe that was kind of pathetic, but it wasn't like Stan had any illusions about himself in that respect.

"We have a mutual friend who you asked for my phone number and he just gave it to you, without consulting me," Ford said, his tone colored with blatant disbelief.

"More or less," Stan said. "But I didn't ask; it was volunteered.' Stan might have, probably, definitely would have asked, if he hadn't chickened out on that too, but Ma beat him to it. She was always getting on him about making up with Ford.

"Fantastic," Ford said dryly. "And once my personal phone number had been volunteered to you, what made you decide to use it to call me incessantly and immediately hang up?"

"I don't know," Stan said. He thought maybe he wanted to apologize or maybe ask Ford for help or maybe he just wanted to make one last plea for the Stan O' War and treasure hunting. But he never said anything, so what possessed to keep calling? Aside from the fact that each time he called Stan managed to convince himself this would be the time when he would say something, because Stan was an idiot like that. Maybe that's all there was to it; Stan was an idiot. It certainly wasn't because he wanted, however briefly, to hear his brother's voice again. Stan might be pathetic, but he refused to believe he was that pathetic.

"You don't know? This is the third time you've called me this week alone and you don't even know why you're calling?" Ford demanded. "Who are you?"

"I'm surprised you don't recognize my voice," Stan said. It shouldn't have been surprising – it had been eight years since the last time Stan had spoken to him, and it wasn't like they had been doing all that much talking on the phone back then either – but Stan was still surprised. And hurt. He was sure he'd recognize Ford's voice no matter how long it had been, but apparently Ford didn't care enough to bother to remember Stan's voice.

"So I do know you then, whoever you are," Ford said.

"I thought you did," Stan said, more to himself than anything. They were twins, and they had been a dynamic duo, two peas in a pod, best friends. Stan had known Ford better than anyone in the entire world, and he had thought Ford knew him too. But if Ford had really known him, he would have known that Stan would have never broken his project on purpose, would never sabotage Ford's future no matter how much Stan hated the shape that future was taking.

Stan cleared his throat and continued. "I mean, yeah, you could say we've met. But that makes me worry about the kind of friends you have, if you think one of them would volunteer your phone number to a total stranger."

"I wouldn't have thought any of my friends would give away my phone number to anyone without asking me, or at the very least letting me know they'd done it, but obviously one of them did, so I must have misjudged that person. Besides. I don't think you're in a position to judge my friends since my one apparently questionable friend – whichever one that is – is your friend too."

"I am absolutely not in a position to judge," Stan agreed. "Pretty much any of the people I call friend would sell me out for a buck if they had the chance. A nickel even. But that's probably better than I deserve anyway. You though, you deserve decent friends. Decent friends and someone to watch your back." Not that Stan was volunteering. He would if he thought Ford would be interested, but he wouldn't so Stan wouldn't either.

"I don't think anyone deserves friends that would sell them out for a dollar," Ford said slowly.

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew who I was," Stan said.

"Who are you?" This time it wasn't a demand, just a softly asked question.

Stan sighed and leaned back against the wall of the phone booth "If I told you, you would hang up."

"Well, that would make for a change at least," said Ford.

"Heh. Yeah, I guess it would." It would be a change and maybe Stan deserved it after he'd… well, after everything he'd done, but still Stan made no move to tell Ford who he was. He might deserve it, but he didn't think he'd be able to take it. Instead he sat there in silence, taking comfort in knowing that Ford was there on the other end of the line and in listening to his brother breathe. So maybe he was that pathetic.

"You still there?" Ford asked after a minute.

"I'm still here," Stan said. He knew he wasn't going to get another chance to talk to Ford; he couldn't go back to calling Ford and hanging up immediately after this, and he knew now that'd he'd never be able to get up the guts to ever talk to Ford for real either. So if this was Stan's last chance, better make the most of it.

"So, uh, you asked why I kept calling you all these years. I guess I just wanted to say sorry. I never meant to ruin your life, but then again my intentions ain't never been worth anything. Still maybe if I hadn't then we'd still… nah, who am I kidding? I would have screwed something else up by now anyway. Seems like that's all I ever do these days. So I'm sorry Sixer; that's all I wanted to say. I won't bother you again." Stan hung up.

He felt better after that, like the jagged hole that had ripped open in him when he'd lost his brother had smoothed a little around the edges. He didn't think the hole would ever go away, but maybe the wound would heal now, with time. That could be enough.

The phone rang. It rang and rang and rang as Stan stared at it. He'd already said his piece, why was Ford calling him back again? Well, Stan didn't want to answer it, he wasn't going to answer it. There was nothing else Stan needed to say, and if he tried he'd probably only screw it up again.

The phone kept right on ringing. It must have rung fifteen, twenty times by now. How long was Ford going to sit there waiting for Stan to answer? It was starting to make Stan feel guilty picturing Ford holding the phone waiting for him. He had to give up soon, right? But still the phone kept on ringing.

Finally Stan picked up the receiver. "Hi?"

"Stanley?!"

Stan slammed the phone back down. Almost immediately it started ringing again. This time Stan only let it go three rings before picking up. "Uh…"

"I swear if you hang up the phone again I will find a way to trace this call and I will hunt you down so I can yell at you in person," Ford said.

"Promises, promises," Stan muttered.

"What was that?" Ford asked.

"I don't know what you want to talk to me for anyway," Stan said. He had thought Ford had made his feelings on the matter pretty clear the last time they saw each other.

"I just found out my twin brother who I haven't talked to in eight years has been trying to call me for the last six-and-a-half years or so and you can't think why I might want to talk to him?" Ford asked.

"Seven years. It's been closer to seven years since I started calling you." Stan thought the first call was sometime about a month or so after Ford had gone off to college. Before that Stan had been able to talk to Ma on her business line, but he hadn't dared call on any phone that Pa might answer and Ma couldn't exactly give Ford the receiver to her business line without raising Pa's suspicion. As soon as Ford had gotten his own phone line – well, a line he shared with his roommate – though, Stan had started trying to call him. Trying being the operative word there.

Ford was silent for a long time after Stan said that. Finally Stan cleared his throat and said, "That doesn't make it any better, does it?"

"It might a little," Ford said. "Did you mean what you said? About being sorry and that being why you've been calling me all these years?"

"Yeah, course I did," said Stan, gripping the phone tighter until the plastic creaked under his fingers. "It was an accident, I swear it was an accident, but I'm still sorry I messed everything up for you."

Ford took a deep breath in and out. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, apology accepted."

"What, just like that?" Stan said, disbelieving. He'd screwed up and cheated Ford out of millions – not that Ford ever cared about money all that much – and his dream school. And what, all Stan had to do was say he was sorry and suddenly everything was water under the bridge?

"I won't lie, accident or no I'm still not happy with you for what you did, and I'm sure a part of me will always wish I'd gotten to go to West Coast Tech. But Stan, that all happened a long time ago. Plus, it turns out my life was less ruined than I thought it was at the time. I have multiple Ph.D.'s and a grant to study exactly what I want to. If you're willing to admit what you did was wrong and apologize for it, then I'm ready to try to move forward."

"I am sorry, and I know I messed up. It was an accident, though. I messed up, but it was an accident," Stan insisted. He needed Ford to know he would never hurt his brother like that on purpose.

"I don't… okay Stan, if you need it to have been an accident, we can say it was an accident. I just want to move past it," Ford said. That didn't sound much like Ford really believed it was an accident, more like he was humoring Stan, but Stan guessed he would take it. If it was a choice between that and starting another fight, then it wasn't really a choice.

"Okay," Stan said. There was a moment of silence as Stan searched for something to say. "So uh, you said you're working on what you want to? Ma mentioned something about you researching imaginary creatures up there in Oregon, but you know Ma; I never know how much of what she says to believe."

"They aren't imaginary," Ford said, sounding insulted by the implication. "They're anomalies, like I used to be interested in when we were kids, and I assure you they are very much real."

"Oh yeah? What kind of very real anomalies are you studying then?" Stan asked.

That sent Ford on a whole long monologue of happy nerd-babble about what he'd been up to, and if it had been anyone else but Ford, Stan wouldn't have believed two words of it. Heck, even though it was Ford, he was still skeptical of about half of it. Gravity Falls sounded like a crazy kind of place; the kind of place Stan might have to see in person sometime. It suddenly occurred to Stan that maybe he could see it in person sometime soon, and maybe Ford wouldn't object to it. Then Stan quickly squashed that thought before he jinxed it by getting his hopes up too soon.

Ford kept right on going with minimal prompting from Stan for a long time. Long enough that Stan finally had to interrupt him and remind him about the massive phone bill he was no doubt racking up on this long distance call. "Oh, I didn't mean to keep you so long," Ford said.

"I ain't worried about that. It's not like I have anywhere I need to be right now," Stan said.

"Yes, what have you been up to the past few years? Ma's said some things whenever I've talked to her, but it is Ma."

"Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that," Stan said evasively. "I've been getting along just fine mostly."

"Stanley. You are a terrible liar."

"Hey, I'll have you know I am an excellent liar," Stan objected. The he realized what that would imply – the truth, but Ford didn't need to know that – and added, "Not that I was lying this time. I'm fine."

Ford made a humming noise that very clearly communicated that he didn't believe a word Stan was saying and they weren't done with this conversation, but all he actually said was, "Alright Stan, I'll let you go for now. Just promise me one thing first."

"What's that?"

"Promise me next time you call, you won't hang up the phone."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I had a couple of people ask for a continuation of this story, so I of course very carefully considered the requests, and then decided not to do them. Instead, here's the same conversation from Ford's POV.

* * *

"Hello, this is Stanford Pines."

The line went dead.

Ford glared at the phone accusingly. That was the third time this week that had happened, and who knew how many times it had happened before that. This has been going on for years, where the phone would ring and Ford would answer, only to have the person on the other end immediately hang up. He hadn't thought much of it at first back in the dorm room at Backupsmore, figuring it was just a prank of some kind. Granted, it wasn't particularly clever for a prank, but in all honesty the majority of the student body at Backupsmore wasn't all that clever in general. Even when he and Fiddleford had moved into an off-campus apartment the following year, it didn't seem that strange that the calls had followed Ford. It would have been a lot of dedication from a single prank caller to keep the joke up that long, but at the time it seemed possible if not probable that it wasn't only a single caller. Ford had complained about the annoyance of the calls when he had been trying to work to classmates enough that first year that any number of people might have decided it would be funny to keep it going. The whole situation had been a source of irritation, but not something Ford had been worried about beyond that.

Then he had moved to Gravity Falls. There had been a lot of things to be excited about at the time, both regarding the move and his life in general, but he would readily admit that one of the things he was really looking forward to was leaving Backupsmore and their prank callers behind. That excitement lasted for all of a month before the phone had rung and Ford had once again answered it to nobody there. After that the calls had continued to roll in, sometimes one or more a week, and sometimes it would be months between them, but they never stopped.

By this point Ford was reasonably certain it had been one person the entire time. One person determined to harass Ford via phone calls for reasons unknown. Or rather for reasons _currently_ unknown, but Ford didn't intend to leave it at that for any longer. After the last time he had decided enough was enough, and he had done a little research into a service he remembered hearing the phone company offered. This time he was ready.

As soon as he heard the dial tone buzzing in his ear, Ford punched "*69" into his phone. He had a notepad and pen ready, and he jotted down the phone number that had just called him when it was rattled off. He had a brief moment of pause when he heard the area code to the number - he had been expecting the same area code as the one in Backupsmore, or maybe the New Jersey area code, but this was one he hadn't heard before. He didn't let that throw him for long though, hanging up the phone so he could dial the new number he'd just written down. He waited impatiently while the phone rang five or six times, before finally a man answered. "Hello?"

"Who is this, and why do you keep calling me?"

"F-Ford?" The man sputtered.

"Yes, I think we've amply established who I am over the years. The question is: who are you?" Ford asked. There was something vaguely familiar about the man's voice, but not familiar enough that Ford could place who it belonged to.

"How did you get this number?" the man asked, ignoring Ford's question entirely.

"From the telephone company. I used last-call return and called the number you just called me on," Ford answered before returning the conversation to the real issue at hand. "How did you get my number? More to the point, how did you get my number here and the numbers for both my dorm and my apartment at Backupsmore, and how were you able to follow me as I moved?"

"A friend told me?" the man suggested more than said, which suggested to Ford that he was making it up.

"We have a mutual friend who you asked for my phone number and he just gave it to you, without consulting me," Ford said.

"More or less. But I didn't ask; it was volunteered."

"Fantastic," Ford said dryly. That detail rang true, which meant it probably actually had been a mutual friend, or at least a mutual acquaintance, that the man had gotten his number from. "And once my personal phone number had been volunteered to you, what made you decide to use it to call me incessantly and immediately hang up?"

"I don't know," the man said.

"You don't know? This is the third time you've called me this week alone and you don't even know why you're calling?" Ford demanded. "Who are you?"

"I'm surprised you don't recognize my voice." Except Ford did recognize the voice, he just couldn't recall who it belonged to. And the recognition remained vague and distant enough that prior to that comment he had almost convinced himself he was imagining it.

"So I do know you then, whoever you are," Ford said. It was the preferable scenario. If Ford's unidentified friend knew that Ford knew this man, then said friend might be excused for giving Ford's number away without permission. Furthermore, between the two options, the idea that it was someone Ford knew calling him constantly for years was slightly more palatable than if it were a stranger doing it. Even so, that wasn't to say Ford was accepting of the situation. He was still frustrated and unbelievably angry with his mystery caller, and was ready to go on a tirade of all the reasons that all of this was not okay. Then the man spoke.

"I thought you did." The soft-spoken words cut straight through Ford's anger. He sounded so… so heartbroken, like Ford not knowing who he was was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. What's more there was a resignation to the way he said it, like the years had beaten a worn acceptance of it into him. Ford still didn't know who the voice on the other end of the line belonged to, but he knew that it shouldn't ever sound like that.

Then the man cleared his throat, and Ford brushed off the brief spell of sympathy. This was still the man that had been harassing him with phone calls for the past six or seven years – six-and-a-half maybe? They had started at some point during his first year in college, but Ford wasn't sure exactly when. Besides, if the man wanted Ford to know who he was, then maybe he ought to tell Ford his damn name. This was on him, not Ford.

"I mean, yeah, you could say we've met," the man continued. "But that makes me worry about the kind of friends you have, if you think one of them would volunteer your phone number to a total stranger."

"I wouldn't have thought any of my friends would give away my phone number to anyone without asking me, or at the very least letting me know they'd done it, but obviously one of them did, so I must have misjudged that person. Besides, I don't think you're in a position to judge my friends since my one apparently questionable friend – whichever one that is – is your friend too." Ford had been wracking his brains over the matter, and had yet to come to any conclusions as to who that questionable friend might be. There really weren't that many people that had Ford's number, and he couldn't think of a single one of them that would not only give his number away, but actually volunteer it without ever mentioning it to Ford.

"I am absolutely not in a position to judge," the man agreed. "Pretty much any of the people I call friend would sell me out for a buck if they had the chance. A nickel even. But that's probably better than I deserve anyway. You though, you deserve decent friends. Decent friends and someone to watch your back."

But why? Sure, Ford believed himself deserving of those things as much as anyone was, but what had this man so convinced of it while at the same time so dismissive of his own right to the same? Why did he care about Ford so much? It occurred to Ford that, even if the man had only been doing it to annoy Ford, he still would have to be heavily emotionally invested to keep calling Ford up over all these years. A positive emotion from the way he was talking, and what if that was his reason for calling for all this time? It was his own strange way of checking up on Ford and watching his back.

So if he was watching Ford's back, in a way, then who was watching his back? Not Ford, and certainly not his friends that would apparently sell him out for a dollar. Maybe the man's assertions were correct and he didn't deserve any better than that, but… "I don't think anyone deserves friends that would sell them out for a dollar," Ford said slowly.

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew who I was," the man said.

Ford wanted to say the man was wrong, that this was a philosophical position that he'd taken and it would hold true regardless of the individual involved. But the truth was he didn't know, because he didn't know who the man was. That was really the crux of all of this, wasn't it? "Who are you?" This time it wasn't a demand, just a softly asked question.

The man sighed. "If I told you, you would hang up."

That was a patently ridiculous statement for the man to make, almost to the point of irony. "Well, that would make for a change at least," said Ford.

"Heh. Yeah, I guess it would," the man agreed, but he didn't answer the question. The silence stretched down the line, strangely companionable considering how angry and frustrated Ford had been only minutes before. And still, the man didn't answer the question.

After a minute Ford began to worry that the man had walked away and left the phone lying there off the hook so Ford wouldn't be able to tell he was gone or call him back. Maybe it was nothing more than gut instinct, but Ford thought the man wouldn't be calling him back again after this. Maybe Ford should be glad to rid himself of the continued annoyance, but if it happened like that then he would never get any answers or ever know the reason for all of this. "You still there?"

"I'm still here," the man responded and Ford let out an internal sigh of relief. "So, uh, you asked why I kept calling you all these years. I guess I just wanted to say sorry. I never meant to ruin your life, but then again my intentions ain't never been worth anything. Still maybe if I hadn't then we'd still… nah, who am I kidding? I would have screwed something else up by now anyway. Seems like that's all I ever do these days. So I'm sorry Sixer; that's all I wanted to say. I won't bother you again." The man hung up.

Ford didn't have the first clue how long he sat there staring at nothing with the dial tone buzzing in his ear. Possibly a few minutes, possibly a few hours, though the latter did seem doubtful if only because his slightly agape mouth didn't have a chance to go dry. Sixer. The man had called him Sixer. There was only one person who had ever called Ford by that name, but it couldn't possibly be him… right?

Ford snapped back to attention and rapidly dialed the number in again. The phone rang. And rang and rang and rang. It rang at least fifteen times, if not more, but Ford refused to hang up. He was going to sit here until someone answered the phone or the line was disconnected, full stop.

Finally someone picked up. "Hi?"

"Stanley?!" Ford exclaimed. It _was_ Stan; now that Ford had the proper context for it, his twin's voice was unmistakable.

The phone slammed back down. Without missing a beat, Ford dialed in the number again. He could keep this up all night, Stan.

This time Stan only let it go three rings before picking up, so apparently he had gotten the message. "Uh…"

"I swear if you hang up the phone again I will find a way to trace this call, and I will hunt you down so I can yell at you in person." Still, there was no harm in Ford driving the point home.

Stan muttered something to himself that Ford didn't catch, though by the tone he would guess Stan was calling him a stubborn jackass.

"What was that?" Ford asked.

"I don't know what you want to talk to me for anyway," Stan said.

"I just found out my twin brother who I haven't talked to in eight years has been trying to call me for the last six-and-a-half years or so and you can't think why I might want to talk to him?" Ford asked.

"Seven years. It's been closer to seven years since I started calling you." Oh. That would place Stan's first call at almost as soon as Ford had moved to Backupsmore. That was…

Here was the thing. The night Stan had gotten kicked out of the house, after Ford had closed the curtains on his brother, he hadn't walked away from the window. He had stood there for a long time, longer than he would ever admit to. That meant he had heard his brother getting into his car and driving off into the night, and before that had heard Stan declare that he didn't need Ford or anybody. Honestly, with the exception of the corner of Ford's brain that always believed the worst of any scenario, he hadn't thought Stan had meant it. It was all just Stan's pride and bravado, and Ford had been sure that within a week's time Stan would come slinking back. He'd grovel to Pa and between that and pressure from Ma, Stan would be let back into the house. He'd probably try to brush off what he'd done to Ford again, and the two of them would have it out until it finally got through Stan's thick skull that he had been in the wrong and needed to apologize. Ford would probably still be mad at him for a while after that, but they would work it out eventually. They were a team, and even as they moved on to pursue their own goals and ambitions after high school, they always would be.

Then Stan hadn't come home, and Ford had had to seriously reevaluate the whole situation. Apparently Stan had meant what he said, and he really didn't need Ford; he didn't want them to be a team anymore. That had hurt. It had hurt more than losing out on West Coast Tech had if he was being honest with himself about it, which he admittedly rarely was. Still, it was what it was, so Ford forced himself to at least feign acceptance of whole thing until he had even convinced himself. Stan didn't care about him anymore, and presumably if that ever changed he'd reach out. It hadn't, so he hadn't, and Ford was fine with that. Really.

Except Stan had reached out, repeated. Incessantly. From almost the moment Ford had moved out of Glass Shard Beach, so maybe Stan hadn't and wasn't ready to go groveling to Pa, but he'd still always wanted him and Ford to be a team. Maybe.

Stan cleared his throat. "That doesn't make it any better, does it?"

"It might a little," Ford said. "Did you mean what you said? About being sorry and that being why you've been calling me all these years?"

"Yeah, course I did," said Stan, clear desperation in his tone. "It was an accident, I swear it was an accident, but I'm still sorry I messed everything up for you."

Ford took in a deep breath and exhaled out all the lingering frustration and anger he felt toward his brother. Well, most of it. Enough to be going on with. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, apology accepted."

"What, just like that?" Stan said.

"I won't lie, accident or no I'm still not happy with you for what you did, and I'm sure a part of me will always wish I'd gotten to go to West Coast Tech. But Stan, that all happened a long time ago. Plus, it turns out my life was less ruined than I thought it was at the time. I have multiple Ph.D.'s and a grant to study exactly what I want to. If you're willing to admit what you did was wrong and apologize for it, then I'm ready to try to move forward."

"I am sorry, and I know I messed up. It was an accident, though. I messed up, but it was an accident," Stan insisted.

"I don't…" see how that matters anymore, but clearly it did matter to Stan. Honestly, Ford was a little skeptical of the accident story because if it had been an accident he would have thought Stan would have told Ford when he'd realized he'd broken the project so Ford could fix it. But maybe it had been an accident, or maybe it hadn't, either way Ford forgave him. "Okay Stan, if you need it to have been an accident, we can say it was an accident. I just want to move past it."

"Okay," Stan said. There was a moment of silence as they both searched for something to say. Predictably, Stan came up with something first. "So uh, you said you're working on what you want to? Ma mentioned something about you researching imaginary creatures up there in Oregon, but you know Ma; I never know how much of what she says to believe."

"They aren't imaginary," Ford huffed. "They're anomalies, like I used to be interested in when we were kids, and I assure you they are very much real."

"Oh yeah? What kind of very real anomalies are you studying then?" Stan asked.

Ford told him, happily relating stories of all the strange and wondrous things he'd seen since coming to Gravity Falls. Stan was a great audience, he'd always been a great audience, laughing and gasping at all the right spots, and when he wasn't vocally reacting Ford could still somehow here his rapt attention over the phone line. Even Stan's scoffs of disbelief came at just the perfect moments, and Ford had to stop himself more than one time from suggesting that Stan come and see the truth of it for himself. They had only just started talking again; Ford didn't want to push Stan too far too fast.

Eventually Stan interrupted him to say something about massive phone bill Ford was no doubt racking up on this long distance call, making a joke about how if Stan had been the one to call he would've run out of change for the payphone a long time ago. Ford tried not to read too much into the payphone comment – Stan did move around a lot from what Ford understood – besides noting that he could throw the number he'd written down away after this.

"Oh, I didn't mean to keep you so long," Ford said.

"I ain't worried about that. It's not like I have anywhere I need to be right now," Stan said.

"Yes, what have you been up to the past few years? Ma's said some things whenever I've talked to her, but it is Ma."

"Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that," Stan said evasively. "I've been getting along just fine mostly."

So maybe he should read into the payphone comment. "Stanley. You are a terrible liar."

"Hey, I'll have you know I am an excellent liar," Stan objected. There was a beat before he added, "Not that I was lying this time. I'm fine."

Ford hummed. He suspected that of being blatantly untrue, but he didn't get the sense that Stan was any sort of immediate danger, so he'd continue not to push too far too fast. "Alright Stan, I'll let you go for now. Just promise me one thing first."

"What's that?"

"Promise me next time you call, you won't hang up the phone."


End file.
